


falling in reverse

by lolainslackss



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Depression, Fluff and Angst, Houseboats and immortal cats, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Exy, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss/pseuds/lolainslackss
Summary: "Somewhere along the way, Neil started thinking of his life in terms of things he could count... One husband, one houseboat. Two seemingly immortal cats, two sore knees. A handful of Olympic medals collecting dust, and finally, the number ten, in thick, bold lettering, on a jersey that had been packed into a picture frame."...Neil confronts life post-Exy.





	falling in reverse

**Author's Note:**

> cw for depression
> 
> title is from the EDEN song of the same name

**_one_ **

 

Somewhere along the way, Neil started thinking of his life in terms of things he could count. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe all the Math got to his head. The tangible things in his life, post-Exy, could be counted up like a stack of pennies, or a row of stones made smooth by the river. That way, his life was laid out like an equation to which there was no right answer. One husband, one houseboat. Two seemingly immortal cats, two sore knees. A handful of Olympic medals collecting dust, and finally, the number ten, in thick, bold lettering, on a jersey that had been packed into a picture frame.

When he retired, they retired his jersey number too. It was supposed to be a nice gesture, but at the ceremony, as he pressed his drink against his forehead, letting the condensation cool his skin, it felt a bit like dying. There were people everywhere, most of them coming over to him and murmuring their congratulations, their best wishes, and it felt _worse_ than dying; it felt like being already dead.

So that first year was a fractured mess, the months blurring together at the edges, an amorphous blob of sunshine melting into rainfall, of staring at ceilings and trying to get through conversations without wanting to break things. It was the sudden shock of tears, food pushed around a plate, arms wrapped tightly around him. It was the shower running cold and time moving too-slow, too-fast, not moving at all. It was headaches and lying very still because he didn’t have the energy to move. It was the fuzzy grey of insomnia.

“We’re going to live on a houseboat,” Andrew had said, coming into their bedroom and not disturbing the drawn curtains but sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand upturned. They were wearing their matching armbands and Neil’s hand twitched to take Andrew’s, but didn’t.

Neil wasn’t _exactly_ sure where the whole boat thing had come from. Andrew had bought the thing, but it was clearly someone else’s idea. It reeked of ‘change of pace, change of scenery, something peaceful and productive to focus on’ - all that meaningless stuff that was typically suggested when it came to adjusting to life after sport. The two of them had read up on it themselves, in the very early days. Neil was supposed to chase after new pursuits and other interests, bend and shape his identity so that Exy Player wasn’t all there was. He was supposed to hold onto relationships with his old teammates and coaches, see a sports psychiatrist if necessary, and he’d been open-minded - for about two minutes - before deeming it all pointless.

“I’m empty,” He’d said one night in bed, and he’d meant it. He felt drained. It was one step further than all the wine upended from a bottle; it was the bottle broken on the ground. It was scattered shards of gleaming glass and not a drop to drink.

“You are not empty,” Andrew had muttered, his voice all rough and electric against Neil’s temple. This was the truth too. After all, Neil knew what love was; he had gotten to share Exy with the most important person in his life for over a decade, share it like a truth he’d once fought to bury. Some people never got that, even, and Neil felt it then: a low thrum of guilt. He buried his face in Andrew’s chest and let it slither through him, because he was never supposed to make it this far. When did he earn the right to feel so shitty about not having it anymore, this thing he wasn’t supposed to have in the first place?

“You just have to find something to fill that Exy-shaped hole in your life,” Andrew went on, and he was joking, the words tinted dark with sarcasm, but for him it was practically poetry.

The problem, Neil worked out, was that there wasn’t an Exy-shaped hole in his _life_ ; it was inside of him. It had been carved out somewhere deep beneath the surface and it was growing.

So: a houseboat. Their apartment was rented out, and Aaron had a Maserati unceremoniously dumped in his driveway, and they were off.

They drifted along the canals during the day. Neil would do yoga in a patch of wood that had been warmed by the sun, the cats slinking around between his outstretched, taut limbs, while Andrew sat reading, occasionally looking at the map in between chapters. They would park somewhere in the early evening and go grocery shopping. They would slowly cook dinner, eat, have a couple of whiskies. At night, they would cocoon themselves in bed, the boat bobbing gently as they fell asleep.

They kissed and held each other often. Sex slowed down, Neil’s mind elsewhere, and although he told himself it was stupid, he felt sore about that too, because he didn’t want Andrew to feel pushed away.

“Stop,” Andrew had said once, as Neil fretted away in the dark-blue shadows of the cabin. “Whatever it is you’re thinking. Stop it.”

He still ran, even though it made his knees sing with pain. The yoga kind of helped with the sore spots, though he could never empty his mind the way YouTube told him to. He didn’t bother keeping up with Exy news. It would be too much like trying to rejoin a game after the buzzer had already rang out. It broke his heart a little not to be able to check in with his old team, though he knew Andrew was keeping (silent) tabs on them.

He started listening to music - calming waves of sound that made his thoughts burn a little dimmer. He’d lie on the floor of the boat, his feet against the wall, and stare at the ceiling, trying to stop the hole from rotting him from the inside out.

“You’re coaching too, right?” Kevin had said, the last time he’d seen him - around a year ago, now.

Exy players typically retired in their early thirties, although some retired in their late twenties due to the nature of the sport. When the time came, Kevin, Jean and Neil decided to meet to discuss their impending retirements and what that would mean for their tithes to the Moriyamas. Neil had expected them to be as beat-up about it all as he was. Instead, Kevin was practically chipper, handing him a cup of coffee and directing him to the snacks he’d laid out on the table.

“No,” Neil replied sullenly. “You two are, I take it?”

“We’ll still be able to send on a decent amount of money if we coach professionally,” Kevin explained, as if Neil were stupid. “ _And_ we stay close to the game. Win-win.”

“How is that win-win?” Neil asked. “To be so _close_ and not be able to play?”

“It’ll be rewarding shaping the next generation of players,” Kevin told him, and it was a practised answer, a talk-show answer.

“How can you say that? Are you delusional?” Neil went on, white-hot anger spitting through him. From the other end of the kitchen table, Jean let out a tiny cough.

“It’s enjoying it in a different way,” Kevin protested, his resolve so unwavering it only pissed Neil off even harder.

“Fuck that,” Neil spat, “and fuck retirement.”

Jean looked at him incredulously.

“You clearly haven’t been thinking about this, have you?” Kevin asked, shaking his head. “You _have_ to coach. It’s the only sensible path to take, and you can do it too. I was captained by you, remember?”

“I don’t need to think about it in much detail,” Neil bit out sourly. “I bet I have a couple of years left in me.”

Jean snorted at that and Neil finally regarded him for long enough to shoot him a glare.

“Neil,” Kevin said seriously. “You’re thirty-three. Your knees are shot. And-”

“And what?” Neil asked hotly when Kevin trailed off.

“And you’re _exhausted_ ,” Kevin finished, looking at Neil as if he was losing his mind.

“Your game is over,” Jean agreed, his tone cold but not unkind.

Neil brought his fist down on the countertop and then swiped his hand violently to the right, sending his and Kevin’s mugs down to the ground along with some papers and pens and a potted plant. It landed messily, loudly, sharp fragments of porcelain skidding across the tiled floor. Jean slid his gaze to the mess before walking out.

“He’s right,” Kevin said, sounding sad. He wouldn’t look Neil in the eyes.

“So what if he’s right?” Neil bit out. “You fucking has-been. You’re going to just sponge glory off some kids?”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Kevin hissed. He bent down to pick up the remnants of the mugs and caught his thumb on a jagged edge, drawing blood. Neil swore under his breath and crouched down to help him. As they tidied, Kevin stared at him, worry radiating off him like heat. “He won’t be done with you. It’s better to give him a slimmer amount of money than owe him something you can’t give.”

The words slipped through Neil’s mind like sand through an hourglass. He couldn’t listen to Kevin anymore, so he stood up and walked out.

His coach approached him about retirement a couple of months later. Jean and Kevin had already begun coaching by this point. He hadn’t asked how it had gone down with the Moriyamas; he hadn’t spoken to Kevin since that day and eventually Kevin stopped texting him so regularly.

It was like a magician had clicked their fingers, revealing the horrific end to a terrible magic trick: he’d gone from actively not thinking about retirement to being unemployed and fucked in just a few months.

And then there was Andrew.

Andrew had a few years left in him. Everybody said so. Goalkeepers didn’t burn themselves out quite so quickly; he’d had no major injuries and he was in amazing shape. Still, he chose to leave the Capercaillies when Neil did and nobody - especially Neil - could talk him out of that decision.

Apart from their relationship, apart from Andrew, Neil only understood himself in terms of being an Exy player. With Exy gone, what was left? He’d been Neil now longer than he’d been Nathaniel; the details of his mother’s face had dimmed into shadows and he had some scars that had paled into translucency. But who _was_ Neil Josten? As he lay on the floor of the boat, the question was a hurricane spinning wildly inside his mind. Every other thought got sucked up and filtered into that not-so-simple question.

And so, he ended up trying to work it out by listing the real things, the things he could count.

One, two, three, four, one hundred, an infinity. Andrew was a permanence, a promise. When Neil counted the tangible, he counted Andrew first. Then came the cats, the boat beneath his feet, his old friends dotted around the globe. Finally, the fading relics of what once was: medals and jerseys, his body itself.

But when he tried to piece it all together, he was left looking at a hazy, undecipherable image.

He turned off the music and stood up, a muscle snapping somewhere in his back. Outside the window, the South Carolina canal was striped with the fluorescent red ribbons of disappearing sunlight. As he walked over to take a closer look, the boat creaked beneath him.

He breathed in deep and tried to find peace for a minute - a second even.

It didn’t come, and he left the cabin to help Andrew prepare dinner.

 

**_two_ **

 

“We’re going to Europe,” Andrew said, his untamed bedhead a glowing muddle of gold and white in the morning light.

“I don’t think this boat was built for transatlantic travel,” Neil replied blandly, reaching out to tug on one of the crooked strands.

“No shit. It’s getting freighted over,” Andrew told him. “And so are we.”

"You figured out a way to visit Nicky without getting on an airplane,” Neil said, chuckling lightly as he ran an idle finger up Andrew’s bare arms. “I’m impressed.”

“Figured you’d like to see Reynolds’ ugly mug as well,” Andrew replied, kicking one of his legs out of the blankets and laying it across Neil’s middle.

Something bright and colourful sparked in Neil’s chest. He hadn’t seen Allison in years.  

“I’d like that,” Neil said, and Andrew tilted his head up to look at him, something like relief warming up the silky, tiger’s eye gold of his eyes for only a second, before cooling down again.

“Good,” Andrew murmured before closing his eyes and resting his head on Neil’s chest, as if to listen to the tap, tap, tap of his heart.

 

…

 

Their canal boat fitted right in on the waterways of Germany. They stuck to their regular routine, waking up late and mooring up at night, filling the time in between with whatever they felt like.

One morning, when they were on their way to Nicky and Erik’s place, Neil noticed a group of kids running alongside the boat, yelling in cheerful German for them to toot the horn.

“Hey Andrew,” Neil said, sitting up from where he’d been dozing in the sunshine. “Those kids want you to toot the horn.”

“The horn is for emergencies, Neil,” Andrew replied dryly, not looking up from his crossword.

The kids, somehow sensing Andrew’s reluctance, let out a collective whine.

“Come on, Andrew,” Neil went on, trying not to laugh. “Give the people what they want.”

The kids began to chant in German for them to toot the horn and before long, Neil found himself joining in.

“Fine,” Andrew said, standing up and heading over to where their little silver horn was kept. He let out a sharp honking sound and the kids began to cheer. As Andrew and Neil’s eyes met across the deck, they swapped smirks like bartered secrets, before Andrew tooted the horn once again.

 

…

 

“Well,” Nicky said, at a loss for words for once. “It’s _different_.”

“We should hire a canal boat for our next vacation,” Erik called over to him, as Andrew gave him a tour of the boat.

“And give up happy hour on the beach?” Nicky replied, scandalised. “No, thank you.”

After they moored up, they went back to Nicky and Erik’s house to make dinner. Andrew helped Erik prepare a stew by cutting sunflower-yellow squash into small chunks. Erik stirred up a dumpling mixture, all the while asking Andrew endless questions about life on the houseboat. Nicky smiled fondly at the two of them before turning to Neil.

“Want to take Micha for a walk while they cook?” He asked.

Neil eyed Micha - their miniature schnauzer - who was curled up on an armchair. She didn’t look like she’d be particularly pleased about being woken up to go walk in the drizzle, but Neil was feeling restless and a walk would do him good.

Along the street lay clusters of leaves that had been yellowed by early autumn and dampened by the rain. Neil stuffed his hands inside his pockets and watched as Micha poked around, looking for a rogue stick within the soggy debris.

“I really like walking around at this time of day,” Nicky said, staring ahead, and Neil caught something nervous hiding in his tone: a secret folded over like a dog-eared page in a book.  

“What’s up?” Neil asked.

“Oh, nothing, I mean- we-” Nicky began, the words spilling out of him in an excited stream, “we were going to tell you this - both of you - over dinner, but I just can’t keep it in, I guess.”

“Right,” Neil replied. “What is it?”

“Erik and I are officially adopting,” Nicky announced, grinning.

“That’s- wow,” Neil said, blinking. He’d known it was something they’d wanted for a long time. He had no idea they’d already started moving the process along. “That’s great.”

“Isn’t it?” Nicky gushed. “Me, Erik, Micha, and then baby makes four. I can’t wait.”

“You guys will be great parents,” Neil told him.

“Thanks, Neil,” Nicky replied. “Act surprised at dinner, okay? Erik has this whole toast planned. It’s adorable.”

“Sure,” Neil replied. Above him, rain water was dripping off the trees in huge blobs.

“You guys ever think about it?” Nicky asked all of a sudden.

“What?”

“Adopting?”

Neil huffed out a laugh that was frayed at the edges and shook his head.

“No,” he replied, a raindrop landing on the back of his neck and trickling down his collar. “I can barely look after myself, let alone a child.”

Nicky shot him a pained, sympathetic look.

“Where are you guys heading next?” he asked, changing the subject.

“France,” Neil answered, suddenly feeling tired of speaking, tired of walking, exhausted by the very idea of more travel. “To see Allison.”

“Oh,” Nicky replied, beaming. “That’ll be fun. You know, I’m always hoping for a team reunion but I guess everyone is so busy.”

“I guess,” Neil echoed, though he and Andrew were the complete opposite of busy. Nicky hummed and their conversation lapsed into silence. Beneath their shoes, the leaves flattened, squelched. A car drove by, its engine chugging softly.

“I think you’re wrong, by the way,” Nicky said, and the cheer was drained from his voice, replaced by something rare, something serious. “I think you take excellent care of yourself. Andrew, too. In fact, I’ve never met two people who take better care of themselves or each other.”

Neil scoffed but Nicky shushed him.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Things were really bad for a second, weren’t they?”

“More like a decade,” Neil muttered.

“But look at you now,” Nicky said, stopping in his tracks. “You could have been eaten whole by your wounds, but you weren’t. You’re standing here, with me, and you’re breathing; you’re intact. It looks like you’ve taken pretty good care of yourself to me.”

Neil opened his mouth to make a smart remark but nothing came forth. Nicky smiled triumphantly.

“Let’s go get dinner, huh?” Nicky went on, turning on his heel to walk back down the street. “Those beefcake boyfriends of ours have been positively slaving away. We’d best enjoy it.”

Neil nodded, hunger suddenly rumbling through him like a pleat of thunder. He followed Nicky and Micha back to the house, eager to shake the rain from his hair and wrap up in something of Andrew’s, something warm.

 

...

 

“So you guys are like, moored up somewhere?” Allison said, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. “Weird.”

“Yeah,” Neil replied. “The cats are looking after the boat while we’re away.”

“Not the same fucking cats, surely?” Allison was incredulous. “How _old_ are they?”

“Ancient,” Andrew muttered. He’d wandered around the entire kitchen, looking into the cupboards as he went, and was now leaning against the kitchen island, looking restless. There were no lights on inside the house. The entire kitchen was solely illuminated by the thin afternoon sunlight that crept in through the windows.

“They never did tell me how old the cats were when I adopted them,” Neil was saying, following the conversation but focused on what he could see happening through the window. Outside, in the garden, Allison’s two kids were with a group of friends, laughing. “Hey- are Kelly and Martin playing Exy out there?”

“Oh, yeah,” Allison replied, tracking his gaze. “They’re obsessed with it just now.”

Neil forced a smile.

“You know,” Allison went on, looking between them, “they would just die to play with you guys. You’re like, their idols.”

Neil hummed, his gaze swinging to Andrew, whose hands were very still on the countertop, his eyes a luminous gold in the film of whitish light that coated the room.

“Neil?” Andrew prompted eventually, when nobody said anything.

“Sure,” Neil found himself saying, his tone gratingly cheery even to himself. “Why not?”

Andrew pressed his lips together in a straight line, but said nothing more.

“Great,” Allison said slowly. “There’s tons of old equipment out back. I’ll join you after I prepare dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Neil replied, waving a hand as he and Andrew made their way outside.

“It’s _Josten_ and _Minyard_ ,” A little boy announced as soon as they stepped onto the grass. Six tiny heads swivelled to face them, appropriately impressed.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Kelly said in a haughty tone. “Our mom used to play with them in college.”

By the looks on the other kids’ faces, they _did_ know this, and were sick of hearing about it.

“We heard you need two extra players,” Neil said, walking over to the garden shed and grabbing a couple of racquets. They were old and worn-out, but felt familiar in the crook of his palm. He swallowed hard and tossed one to Andrew without looking him in the eye.

“Are you _serious_?” A girl asked, gleefully cupping her face in her hands as she watched them getting ready for the game.

“Dead serious,” Andrew replied, squeezing into some armour Neil was pretty sure belonged to Martin.

“How are we supposed to score against _Minyard_?” Another boy piped up, watching Andrew wander over to the goal with a look of awe-struck horror.

“He’s not so tough,” Martin joked. “I scored on him the last time he was here.”

“Did not,” Andrew countered, frowning.

“Let’s go,” Neil said, beginning of the scrimmage. They had to take it down a couple of notches to make it fair, but the kids were actually pretty good. Kelly was a defensive dealer, just like Allison; she swiped the ball away from Neil and shot it back up the makeshift court they’d make on the grass. Neil stopped and turned on his heel, running the length of the garden to chase it, ignoring the tight pain that swelled in his knees.

He made it to the ball just before the other team’s striker and pocketed it in the mesh of his racquet. He spun, his eyes fixed on the goal, and shot. Andrew deflected it with an effortless wave of his racquet, barely having to move. Neil felt a sharp, dark surge of annoyance rush through him. The ball was picked up once again by Kelly, who swiftly tossed it to one of the backliners, who passed it on to Martin. Martin then sprinted past Neil and aimed for the other goal. The girl in goal saw him coming but couldn’t deflect in time. Martin whooped as the ball hit home.

The goalkeeper narrowed her eyebrows, annoyed, and passed the ball to the dealer, who shot it to Neil. Neil dodged a couple of overzealous backliners and tried to score from a closer distance. Once again, Andrew batted the ball away. He hardly had to look to see where it was coming from. Neil bit the inside of his mouth, knowing it didn’t matter but feeling the hurt that it mattered anyway. He stormed forward and stole the ball from the backliner, turning to hurl the ball toward Andrew. It soared through the air like a falling star and Andrew smacked it away, sending it flying upfield.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Neil bit out, tossing his racquet to the ground.

The kids stopped moving and stared at him.

“Josten said a bad word,” One of the boys said.

Neil sighed, frustrated, and then headed back inside, peeling off the armour as he went. Inside, Allison was cooking, the radio chattering away in the background.

“That was a mistake,” Neil snapped, walking up beside her and slouching against the countertop. He felt defeated in more ways than one, like the black hole in his heart was slowly devouring everything bright as it grew.

“What? Why?” Allison asked, frowning. “You hurt yourself?”

“Nowhere important,” Neil mumbled darkly, burying his face in his forearms.

“You’re behaving more pitifully than usual,” Allison said, wrinkling her nose and dumping a sprinkling of pepper into the pot. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Neil replied. “Can I just stand here a while?”

“Of course,” She said, her voice softening. “Whatever you need.”

Neil huffed and concentrated on the gentle buzz of the radio.

 

**_three_ **

 

Back in South Carolina, the rain poured down, raising the water levels in the canals. They hid down below, lying in bed, the cats balled between their feet and wrapped around each other in a shape that resembled a pretzel.

Since they’d gotten back from Europe, Neil had taken a turn for the worse. Seeing old friends and taking some time away from home hadn’t fixed anything. Just as he had done those first few weeks after retiring, he lapsed into a silence that filled the entire boat. He was preoccupied by the past: all the good bits and bad. Thinking about it made him startled by his own existence.

One night, when he couldn’t sleep, he pulled on his running shoes and crept onto the deck. The rain was relentless - a thousand glittering white needles slicing through the static-grey layers of dark. It soaked his hair instantly and trickled down his face, the cold, wet persistence of it taking his breath away.  

When he opened his eyes, Andrew was standing next to him. Neil wasn’t surprised; they’d always shared this bone-deep connection. It was as if they were two kids holding twin tin cans connected by a string. One of them couldn’t move without the other hearing it, knowing it.

“Do you miss it?” Neil found himself asking. It had been a taboo subject for nearly a year. Now, in the fog of quiet, with the rain shining on the deck, he realised he should have been asking this a long time ago. They were supposed to take care of each other.

Instead of a canned _no_ or an unexpected _yes_ , Andrew replied, “I’m going back. For another year at least.”

 _Of course_ , Neil thought, and it didn’t feel like falling or being ruined from the inside out. It felt like joy, sudden and lit-up and swooping giddily through his chest.

“That’s great,” Neil told Andrew, because it was. “What about _this_?”

“We sell it,” Andrew replied, shrugging. “We go back to the apartment.”

“I meant me,” Neil said, forcing a smile. “What now?”

“Now, the rest,” Andrew told him, and it was simple, so simple, like blue, blue skies and doing the dishes. It was also the opposite. _The rest_ would be some kind of miracle, like scoring the winning point with one minute left in overtime, like becoming someone else and turning the past to dust.

“The rest,” Neil agreed, nodding his head.

The rain stopped falling.

 

…

 

 _The rest_ , as it happened, snuck up on him one Thursday evening as they were finishing their dinner. Andrew placed his cutlery down on his empty plate. The _clink_ made Neil look up and he noticed that Andrew was watching him.

“Why don’t you help people?” Andrew said, the words coming out strained. “People like you.”

“Depressed, retired athletes?” Neil joked.

“Runaways,” Andrew clarified, steepling his fingers. “Kids in trouble. The way we used to be.”

Neil put down his fork.

“I could help you,” Andrew went on. “Think about it.”

“I will,” Neil replied, feeling suddenly winded. “I’ll think about it.”

 

…

 

They were sitting on hard, plastic stadium seats bundled up in their winter coats. Around them were cheering fans clad in maroon and navy and gold. The Stags were down by two points and had just been granted a penalty. Neil’s gaze swung to Kevin, who was watching the striker prepare to take the shot with his arms folded across his chest. Neil could tell by the expression on his face that he had total faith the shot would land. Neil tried to feel the same sense of sureness.

“That’ll be you next week,” he muttered, gripping Andrew’s hand a little too tightly. “The Sea Eagles play dirty. You tell me if one of them tries anything.”

“I think I can handle it,” Andrew replied, rolling his eyes but not loosening their entwined fingers.

Neil felt his heart swell in his chest as the striker took the shot, the ball shooting through the air and then slamming against the wall. He released a joyous yell without really thinking about it, throwing his free arm in the air.

The won penalty fuelled the Stags onto a victory. They scored another two points within the last ten minutes, bringing the final score to eleven to ten. Neil whooped and grinned at Andrew as the final buzzer rang out.

The game ended and the fans filtered out of the stadium. Andrew went ahead to pick up the car from the parking lot as Neil wandered down to the court. When he approached, Kevin opened the doors to let him pass through.

“What do you think?” he asked, tossing Neil a sports drink as if he’d just played the game rather than watched it.

“I think they’re a little sloppy, but they’re passionate, scrappy, determined,” Neil replied. “I’m going to enjoy helping you whip them into shape.”

“Me too,” Kevin said, and his smile was a burst of relief. Neil felt like there was a too-tight knot loosening somewhere inside his chest.

They stood like that a while, as the stadium fully emptied. Eventually, Kevin cleared his throat, and Neil turned to face him.

“He’s here to see you,” Kevin told him, his eyes wary.

Neil shrugged easily; he’d been expecting it.

“Don’t piss him off, okay?” Kevin added, sighing.

“Like I ever would,” Neil replied. “See you next week, co-coach.”

He headed for the parking lot, looking for the _different_ jet-black car he’d gotten into countless times, prepared for the overwhelming bite of Ichirou’s cologne and the scent of blood - as potent as gunmetal - it would provoke. As usual, he tried to swallow down his fear. It hadn’t gotten easier with time.

He slid into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. Strangely, the sun visor was flipped down. He looked at his reflection in the mirror there, his eyes a set, startling blue in the darkened car. He waited.

“Look at yourself,” Ichirou drawled from beside him. “Tell me: is this how your father felt when you disappointed him?”

“I didn’t mean to disappoint you,” Neil said, his voice steady. “I needed some time. I’ll make up for it.”

“Ah, yes,” Ichirou said, his lighter sparking in the darkness and catching Neil’s eye. “The Neil Josten Foundation. I’ve heard all about it. I hope you don’t expect me to invest.”

“I have an investor, actually,” Neil said, and behind him, leather creaked against leather. Someone coughed.

“Enough,” Ichirou said, holding his palm up. “How do you expect to serve the family running a charity?”

“You haven’t heard?” Neil went on, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. “I’m going to be coaching alongside Kevin. I thought someone might have told you.”

“I see,” Ichirou replied. “Isn’t it funny how things come full circle?”

“I’ll be earning the same as him,” Neil explained. “The charity is a separate thing. Completely independently funded.”

“Good,” Ichirou replied after a pause. “See to it you make the same arrangements Kevin has made.”

“I will,” Neil replied, his hand inching toward the car door handle. The stuffiness was suffocating. He couldn’t wait for fresh air.

“And make it 85 per cent,” Ichirou continued. “To make up for the lost time.”

Neil nodded as his mind started calculating. He had some savings from his Exy career and Andrew had enough money to last them several lifetimes. They would be fine. They would be better than fine.

Finally dismissed, Neil climbed out of the car and watched it glide out of the parking lot, mixing in with the other cars before disappearing around a corner.

He heaved out a sigh and sat down on the concrete. Hot dog wrappers and cigarette ends littered the floor but he couldn’t care less. He needed to feel something solid. He needed to breathe in the cold night air until his jaw stopped clenching, until it stopped feeling like liquid fire was coursing through his veins.

The Maserati approached and Neil watched as Andrew slid out of it. He settled down on the floor next to Neil, cross-legged.

“What happened to you?” Andrew’s asked. “You fall out with Kevin again?”

Neil didn’t know what else to do, so he laughed. The problem was that once he started, he couldn’t stop. Andrew watched him and waited.

“I just had the sudden realisation that life is absurd,” Neil managed eventually. Andrew, sensing what he meant - that everything was actually, absurdly going to be _okay_ \- gave him a sideways glance as if to say _told you so_.

Neil stopped laughing and brought his knees to his chest. Above them, the clouds had shrank away to nothingness, revealing a murky sky peppered with tiny, pinprick stars. They were really there - silver and burning and tangible - but there were too many to count. He focused on the other things, the old-new things. One flat, one Maserati. Two cats who had certainly made some kind of deal with the devil. The _new_ -new things. One charitable foundation set up in his name. One new job with one old friend.

And then there was Andrew.

One husband, who’d been there through everything, who’d lay beside him at night when it felt like he was being destroyed from the inside out and didn’t try to put a band-aid on it. He had been so patient, had filled the emptiness so softly and quietly that Neil had hardly noticed he’d been healing all along.

Playing Exy was done, but he wasn’t. Everything was stacked up now, and there it was, the final part of the equation, the only number that really counted. One future, wild and messy, and full of countless unknown things. He wanted them all, and he wanted _this_ , forever, he thought, pulling Andrew close and kissing him under the stars as the parking lot emptied and the stadium lights dimmed.

**Author's Note:**

> ty to my baes @moonix and @exybee - I was so close to abandoning this but their supportive comments lit a fire under my ass to finish it !!
> 
> hmu on [tumblr](http://palmetttos.tumblr.com)


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